


Dum Capit Nox Diem.

by eeeeeeeeeerenjaegar



Series: Ferte in Noctem. [1]
Category: FFXV - Fandom, Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Fantasy, Other, but like, if bloodborne and the order: 1886 and ffxv had a threesome, more like, not final fantasy type fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-06
Updated: 2017-02-06
Packaged: 2018-09-22 08:26:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9596306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eeeeeeeeeerenjaegar/pseuds/eeeeeeeeeerenjaegar
Summary: A ten-year-old Noctis asks his four-thousand year old shadow guardian to tell him a story.(Some background on an AU a friend of mine and I are currently crying our eyes out over. The actual AU will be posted, too, and will feature Ignoct.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> as the summary says, this is basically some background for an au a buddy of mine and i have been doing. ignis is old as fuck and wise as fuck and inhuman, and noct is a ten year old king because his parents are fucking dead, so thats fun. this happens some 8-9 years before the actual au, eheh

The castle is cold, and quiet, and dark.

It’s been that way since the siege. Nothing, no one, resides in it besides a boy and his ever-patient and wise shadow. Noctis is ten, and the siege was nearly a year ago but the scars are still very evident; Not only on the castle itself, but on Noctis’ skin, and deep within every inch of his mind. The ghosts that seem to haunt the marble halls and the paintings torn follow Noctis nightly into his dreams.

And there has only ever been one hope to shine a light on the darkness those dreams bring.

Ignis, over his thousands of years of living, has acquired a story for each day of Noctis’ life, it seems. Noctis is never shy about asking to hear them, especially when his room seems much too big for him, and the shadows Ignis does not haunt seem to move. There’s a comfort in listening to a smooth voice spin tales of wonder and complexity, of tragedy and of heroism, and there’s a comfort in falling asleep with a lit oil lantern glowing faintly.

This night, just like any other, finishes with a story of Noctis’ choosing. It’s late, and Ignis has already told Noctis one tale of his father’s dashing heroism and bravery in the face of adversity. The young king, however, isn’t settled by it.

He tries to relax as Ignis’ mirror-like eyes shut, crossing his legs in his chair. Ignis is silent, apparently trying to let Noct get much needed sleep, but it eludes him. It usually does.

“Ignis?” Noct’s small voice comes through quiet, but clear in the large room. “...Can I hear one more?"

“Of course,” comes the reply, lightly accented, but sure all the same. “Have you something specific in mind, Majesty?”

Noct hums in thought, staring up at the ceiling. His brows furrow for a moment, and then he sits up. Ignis’ mercury eyes open, now, and he can see himself clearly in the reflection of his irises. Something clicks, suddenly, and he crosses his legs under the covers. “...Do you have stories of my mom?”

Ignis seems slightly taken aback, but he smiles softly with a quality Noct can’t place. It looks… Noctis thinks it looks a little sad, and that makes him lower his gaze.

“I have many,” Ignis says with a warm tone, “There’s one I think you might like.”

Ignis stands, bringing his chair a little closer and Noctis’ eyes dart up to look at him with a smile. Ignis turns up the dial on the lantern, making it just a bit brighter, illuminating the room with a soft orange glow. The wall just in front of Noct’s bed is especially lit, and it looks a touch like a canvas dripping in warmth. He smiles, watching Ignis place his hands just before the lantern, making the shadows of them visible. Ignis inhales deeply, but slowly, and the show begins.

With a flourish of liquid smoke, a form comes to life on the wall. The blackened silhouette of a woman in a ballgown appears, her dress seeming to move just slightly with gentle swaying. Noctis looks over at Ignis’ hands and the silvery thickness of ice-like particles are swirling between his palms, the source of the blackness painted before the two of them.

“When you were just an infant,” Ignis changes the standing figure of his mother into something different; The form dissipates, and quickly reforms in the same flurry it appeared in, this time holding a small bundle. “Hardly any bigger than this, Her Majesty, Aulea, had fallen dreadfully ill.” It comes apart once again, and elegant lines upon lines and forms come to life on the wall to paint the room that was once inhabited by Noctis’ parents. His mother can be seen in bed, even if painted in blackness, with his father standing beside her.

His father, with a liquid quickness and fluidity sits in a chair, and seems to bow his head. Noct watches and listens intently, not wanting to blink in fear of missing a movement. “She was bedridden for weeks, and those weeks turned to months. Your father never once left her side unless it was absolutely necessary.”

“What about you?” Noctis asks, looking over to Ignis. “Did you stay with her?”

“I kept a close watch,” Noctis smiles and breathes a sigh of relief. Ignis, of course, returns his smile, small as it may be. “I had feared that, should she pass, she would do so alone. His Majesty and I worried for her, greatly.”

“Regardless,” Ignis begins again, turning his attention back to the wall. “She had fallen ill, and yet,” The forms drip down the wall and clear, leaving the canvas new once again. It’s quick to reform, but this time, Ignis’ own image joins his parents, holding something. “She demanded to see you, despite her being so sick. She could not bear the thought of being unable to hold you, being unable to bond with you, in your first days.”

Aulea’s arms reach to Ignis’ figure with a swiftness, and he bends to hand her Noctis. She holds him close, so close, and Noctis can feel his chest tightening. He inhales, and he feels Ignis look to him. “Majesty… Should you ask me to stop, I would not object--”

Noctis looks at him with a clear fear. “No!” he exclaims, “No! Keep… Keep going. I like this.”

Ignis nods once, solemnly, and looks back to the wall. The forms turn to ash once again, and Noctis looks at the wall with wide eyes, waiting.

“Your mother would often, on her better days, go to see you,” Ignis explains, and Aulea’s figure comes to life, this time walking down a hall. Her dress moves with her, leaving a thin trail of smoke in her wake. “She would scoop you up and hold you so terribly close,” the figures move to prove it, and Noctis can practically feel the smile on his mother’s face and it makes _him_  smile, albeit with watery eyes. “You were the reason she pulled through being so ill, Majesty. She loved you so, so much. Both Queen Aulea and King Regis loved you. Remember that.”

Noctis looks to Ignis, who shakes out his hands in an apparent show of being finished. Short as it may have been, Noctis still can’t help but feel a little lighter in some respects; Even as tears start to drip down his face, even as he struggles not to sniffle as he gets back under the covers, he feels lighter. He knows his dreams will consist of not bodies and gunshots, but of family, and warmth.

Ignis stands, and moves to sit on the edge of the young king’s bed to hush him, threading careful fingers through his hair.

“Rest, Majesty,” he whispers, before conjuring something for Noctis to watch as he falls asleep. It’s his mother, and his father, dancing together. Her dress sways with a fluidity and so does his father’s cape, and despite how _dark_  they are, he can feel their love. For each other, and for him. “In the morning, when you wake, we’ll see about something sweet for breakfast.”

**Author's Note:**

> i got a twitter, i fucking love this au so feel free to hmu @scientiasins or otherwise follow for gay


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